


The 30-Year-Old Virgin

by tebtosca



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Balloons, Crack, M/M, Sex Shop, Sex Toys, Virginity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-23
Updated: 2014-05-23
Packaged: 2018-01-26 06:20:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1677941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tebtosca/pseuds/tebtosca
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jensen is a grumpy virgin sex shop owner. Jared is a male model moonlighting as a pizza delivery guy. This is what happens when they accidentally meet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The 30-Year-Old Virgin

**Author's Note:**

> Written for spn-cinema, with amazing art by siennavie. Art masterpost [HERE](http://siennavie.livejournal.com/31251.html) \-- check it out!

Jensen realizes in hindsight that it was ridiculous to think he could get past his thirtieth birthday without any notice or harassment.

He stands in the doorway of his shop and sighs deeply in his most put-upon manner.

“Surprise!” comes the unison cry from the denizens inside. 

“Yeah, bitch!” comes the amendment from the less savory ones.

Jensen takes four large steps backwards and closes the door of the shop, staring with contempt at the door with the Beaver Banger logo on it.

Beaver Banger, the unfortunately-named shop previously owned by Jensen’s Uncle Jim, has somehow managed to remain the most successful sexual aid shop in the area, even with Jensen’s longsuffering management. It helps that there is an apartment directly over the shop, so Jensen doesn’t have to pour any money into rent. It’s also an excellent escape route when he gets annoyed, which is more often than he cares to admit.

Uncle Jim, Jensen’s only remaining family member and the man who took him in after his parents died when he was a teenager, passed away himself four years prior in a tragic accident involving a ring gag and an overripe plantain. Jensen tries not to think about exactly what Jim was doing at the time of his death, but the old man had a semblance of a smile on his face when Jensen identified his body in the morgue, so at least he went out on top. 

Um, or bottom. Whichever it was.

Jensen shudders.

Days like this, however, are when Jensen curses the bearded old pervert, especially knowing that if he leaves the shop to the devices of his employees, it will likely either burn to the ground or re-open as a brothel.

Setting his shoulders, he re-opens the door and takes in the spectacle in front of him.

“Really, people?” he deadpans. He scans the lot of them with his most withering stare.

Danneel, best friend and the reason why the Beaver Banger name still exists (“Jeeeeen, it’s hilarious. Like, he’s _banging_ the _beaver_. Dude!”), does jazz hands in front of a terribly handwritten sign that says “Happy birthday, Jensen! You’re not old, that’s just the smell of your body slowly decaying.”

Aldis, Danneel’s boyfriend and a student going into his tenth year at UCSF who doesn’t actually study anything beyond Danneel’s boobs, waves an actual lit sparkler that is close enough to the dental dams on the counter that Jensen fears the area lesbians might end up with a tragic fire-ridden shortage.

Chad, scourge of Jensen’s existence and an apparent drifter that showed up at the shop one day last year and never left, holds up the animal balloons that he likes to make out of colored condoms and hand out to confused customers as parting gifts.

And Misha, the only actual employee who is supposed to be here at this time, is giving Jensen the “don’t blame me, Enjolras, these people rushed the barricades” look.

“Beaver Banger is a place of business. Don’t let the gigantic plastic penises fool you,” Jensen admonishes, crossing his arms across his chest in his best attempt at gravitas.

Danneel giggles. _”Beaver.”_

“Well, that failed,” Jensen grumbles, stomping into the shop and starting to pull down both the sign and the various other condom-balloons with which Chad has managed to decorate the front desk.

When, after forty-five minutes and three customers who successfully walk out of the shop with a discreet black bag and a not-discreet balloon animal, the group still decides to not leave, Jensen finally turns to them and throws his hands up in exasperation.

“Fine. It’s my birthday. I’m thirty. Old. Over the hill. On the verge of death. Can you all please go away now?” Misha is the only one that starts slinking towards the door. “Except you, Misha. For the love of God, I actually pay you to be here and to keep out these interlopers. You had _one job._ ”

Danneel makes a rude noise and claps her hands. “Jenny-bean, today is your _special day_ , and we want you to celebrate it with everyone you love.” She pauses. “And Chad.”

“In other words, we are taking you out tonight to get you _laid_ ,” Aldis continues, high-fiving Danneel .

“Does this mean we have to go to a full-homo bar? Like, should I wear chaps? I have chaps. Assless chaps,” Chad says, with a little too much excitement, as the other groan.

“No one wants to see that, creeper,” Aldis tsks in response.

“How do we even know that Jensen’s gay?” Misha asks.

Danneel sighs. “Freshman year, I got drunk on Jäger and humped his thigh wearing nothing but G-string and a top hat. Nada.”

“Complete homosexual,” Misha agrees.

Jensen waves his hands in the air and huffs. “Hello. I am standing right here, you know.”

Danneel slinks over to him and pinches his cheeks before he can slap her away. “Sweetie, it’s been too long since you’ve dated anyone. You need a little stress relief.”

“Yeah, a little steak sauce on your T-bone will do you some good,” Misha adds, wiggling his eyebrows.

Jensen recoils. “I don’t even know what you’re trying to say but thank you for nudging me a step further towards veganism.”

“Why don’t you date more? I mean, you’re a good catch besides that old grumpy asshole thing,” Misha continues, and Jensen regrets that he inherited the man along with the store.

“Misha’s right, Jen. You are smoking hot,” Danneel agrees.

“Maybe your moves have just gotten rusty,” Aldis insists. “Give us your best pickup line.”

Jensen can feel his face heating up, and this conversation is heading in a direction that he decidedly does _not_ want it to go. “I don’t have one.”

“C’mon,” Aldis keeps needling. “Just one, we won’t laugh, promise.”

Jensen, in a panic, blurts out the first thing that comes to his brain. “Would you like a little steak sauce on your T-bone?”

There’s a long pause before Chad finally breaks the silence. “Either I’m stoned, or Misha just said that.”

Jensen can feel his face turning bright red. Fucking fair skin. “You put me on the spot, so shut up. And I don’t have pickup lines.”

“Everyone has a pickup line or two. How do you get laid?” Aldis asks.

“Do you just flat out ask for sex? Because that’s kind of hot,” Misha says, with what Jensen swears is admiration.

Jensen waits patiently for the floor to open up underneath him, but unfortunately the foundation is earthquake-proofed and strong.

When he doesn’t reply, Danneel gives him a strange look. “Jen? You _do_ get laid…right?”

“I.” Jensen opens his mouth like a guppy, and then closes it fast. 

Realization dawns on Danneel’s face. “Holy shit, are you a virgin? No way!”

Jensen picks up a handful of dental dams and throws them at her, lesbians be damned.

“How did you not know this?” Aldis asks his girlfriend, spinning around to face her. She just shrugs with a flabbergasted expression. 

“I don’t pay attention to Jensen when he talks, jeez,” Danneel replies, but sticks her finger in Jensen’s face. “But what were you doing all that time on those ‘study dates’ with Matt Cohen back in college?” 

Jensen looks at her, confused. “Um, studying? Matt was a Rhodes Scholar.”

Danneel looks suitably impressed. “With those abs? Not bad.”

“Is it a religious thing? Because I know a guy who knows another guy who knows how to exorcise demons for fifty bucks,” Misha offers.

“Jesus said it doesn’t count if it’s in the butt,” Chad points out.

“Cindy Sampson told me this the night of junior prom, so I can confirm,” Aldis agrees.

“Are you asexual, Jen? It’s okay if you are, I won’t judge you,” Danneel says, her face twisted up into the most heartfelt expression Jensen’s seen since she tried to get him to break into their Physics teacher’s office to steal the final in sophomore year.

“What the fuck is that?” Chad asks.

Danneel smacks him in the back of the head. “I’m trying to be sensitive here, you hobo!”

“I think that’s someone who can fertilize their own eggs,” Aldis says.

“Jensen can have his own assbabies,” Misha decides.

Danneel claps her hands and squeals. “Tiny assbabies with freckles!”

Jensen slams his fist down on the glass counter, instantly regretting it when it starts throbbing. “I will fire every single one of you if you don’t shut up.”

“I don’t work here, bro,” Chad points out, as Aldis nods.

“Me, neither.”

Jensen huffs, which seems to do nothing to make them all disappear into thin air. “I am not asexual, you idiots. In fact, when I saw ‘The Watchman,’ and the Comedian comes in, I –“ Jensen pauses to move his hips around in a tight swish that seems to only impress Misha. 

“Ah, okay, so you’re just a nerd,” Aldis concludes.

“Nerd dick!” Chad hollers.

Jensen, at the very end of what little rope he had left, decides that an hour’s worth of work is long enough, so he throws the rest of the dental dams onto the counter and starts marching towards the exit.

Before he makes it halfway across the shop, though, a tiny little man comes into the shop and stares at them. He scratches his beard awkwardly as he speaks. “I need your biggest butt plug. Something my rectum will never forgive me for.”

“Balloon?” Chad offers him instead.

_Happy birthday to me,_ Jensen thinks grumpily, as he pushes past and straight out the door.

==

 

It isn’t like Jensen _meant_ to end up a thirty-year-old virgin sex shop owner. At first, grief over his parents sent him into a shell where he didn’t talk to anyone for months. That was followed by the normal teenage issues like acne, baby fat, and a retainer so elaborate that it made his orthodontist number one on his social calendar. College and meeting Danneel followed, but between the frantic studying and the traumatic G-string and top hat incident, hooking up just didn’t happen.

One would think being raised by an uncle as sexually liberal as Uncle Jim would have inspired him at that point, but it ended up being the complete opposite. As the story goes, kids rebel against what their parents do.

Eventually, it just never seemed to _happen_ , and between Jensen’s overall anti-social, anti-people, especially-Chad attitude and the amount of time he spends at the shop, he stops trying to make it so. 

Now his secret is out, and Jensen suspects that his asshole friends are making a concerted effort to show him the error of his ways. It’s been a week since his birthday, and between the pink Post-its with “Love me, Jensen!” tagged on the new line of dildos and the number of times Danneel has mentioned “a friend you’ll just love”, Jensen can be forgiven for being a little wary.

It’s with that thought in mind when, on a rather peaceful Tuesday, a giant Adonis of a man walks in wearing an über-tight delivery uniform and holding a stack of rather delicious-smelling pizza boxes.

The man, all chiseled cheekbones and barrel chest, turns slightly in profile. His long, shiny chestnut hair moves just so, and Jensen can’t help checking behind himself to see if Chad installed a wind machine while he was at lunch.

“Did someone order pizza?” the delivery man asks with a vague drawl, one perfectly-manicured eyebrow rising in question. He holds the boxes up with one hand, bicep not-so-subtly flexing with the movement.

Jensen huffs, snapping out of the momentary haze that comes with seeing the most gorgeous man that probably ever existed. He can’t _believe_ that his friends would go this far.

“Did Danneel put you up to this? She did, didn’t she?” Jensen demands, marching right up to the man. He loses his nerve just for a second when he realizes how far he has to look up to look him in the eyes.

The almond-shaped, multi-hued, kaleidoscope eyes.

Jensen gulps.

“I’m sorry?” the delivery man says, tilting his head to the side in a way that is most definitely _not_ adorable.

“She thinks she is _so_ funny, doesn’t she? Sending me a stripper. I mean, a pizza uniform? Could you be any more cliché?”

“A strip—“

Jensen reaches for the front of the guy’s uniform shirt. “I bet this is Velcro and I can just pull it…”

“Hey, what are you doing?!” 

Jensen keeps tugging the shirt, which is strangely enough _not_ ripping away like most stripper outfits. Instead, all he manages to do is send two of the buttons flying before the guy uses his free hand to wrap firmly around Jensen’s wrist to stop him.

“We have to pay for these if they are damaged,” the guy says, his voice calm for someone who just got accidentally molested.

Jensen’s face heats up as he stares at the rather impressive grip the man has around his wrist. “You aren’t a stripper, are you?”

The man shakes his hair again, and Jensen swears he sees the man’s pec twitch through the fabric of what’s left of his shirt. “Male model moonlighting as a pizza delivery guy to pay bills.”

Jensen gulps again, realizing that the guy is still gripping him and they are mere inches apart and this is the closest he’s been to anything but the Pink Pounder vibrator in ages.

Lazy applauding coming from the register snaps them out of their interlude, and reminds Jensen that there is someone else in the store.

“That’s more impressive than the T-bone line,” Misha says with a smirk.

Jensen resists sticking his tongue out at him, but just barely. He coughs and turns back to the delivery guy, who has a bemused smile on his face. 

“Sorry, about that,” Jensen glances down at the name stitched into the shirt. “Jared.”

Pizza guy—Jared—just smiles again, dimples popping out to join the party. “No problem. I’m used to being fondled.”

Misha snorts and Jensen hisses at him.

“So,” Jared gets back to business. “Did you guys order pizza?’

“No, not us,” Jensen replies, regretting it a little because it smells pretty good and he’s starving.

Jared hums a little, face pulled into a confused little pout. He pulls out the receipt from his pocket and reads it off. “Kane’s Kollectibles.”

_How the hell did he get those two mixed up,_ Jensen thinks.

“Are you… illiterate?”

“Male model,” Jared repeats, shrugging.

“Ah, well.” Jensen starts and stops. His face twitches. 

Jared looks at him with a weirdly hopeful expression before turning back towards the door. His hair blows in the invisible wind before he gives a little wave and heads out.

Jensen spins to Misha, who has his mouth ready to open. 

“Don’t speak,” Jensen says, pointing his finger and marching back to the counter as Misha laughs.

==

Jensen most certainly does _not_ go home that night, make himself a frozen pepperoni pizza, and then spend an hour with his right hand and the just-in-stock Pink Pounder: Turbo Edition.

That would be ridiculous.

==

It’s only a little awkward the next day around lunch time, when Jared the male model pizza guy walks into the shop with “Did someone ask for the sausage?” as a greeting.

Danneel, who is manning the front while filing her nails and ignoring Chad as he makes Jenga-esque stacks with the pocket vibe boxes, looks up sharply and makes what Jensen can only describe as a purring sound.

“Jensen likes his sausage hot and spicy, don’t you Jenny-Bean?”

Jensen, who is currently in the middle of doing inventory on the butt plugs, manages to only drop three of them as he fumbles in his flabbergasted state.

One of them ends up right on top of Jared’s shoe, and Jared looks down at it in bemusement.

“That looks like it would be a tight fit,” he muses, looking back up at Jensen with a smirk.

“Especially for Jensen’s asshole,” Chad throws in, and Danneel does manage to get a smack in to his head, even as she snickers.

Jensen utter mortification makes him scowl, and he turns his fury on the hapless delivery boy for letting Chad even get that shot in.

“No one here ordered pizza. Like no one ordered pizza yesterday. So maybe you should go back to the beginning and learn to read your orders a little more carefully so that you can refrain from coming into my business and disrupting my clientele.”

Jensen pulls in a deep breath. And looks around the shop. With a distinct _lack_ of any current clientele.

“Yeah, that butt plug is definitely not going to fit next to the stick you’ve got lodged up there,” Chad says, flicking the boxes with his thumb and ring finger and sending pocket vibes toppling all over the counter.

“So you’re saying that you don’t want the sausage?” Jared says, face completely serene as his hair does the blowy thing again.

“Oh, he wants the sausage alright,” Danneel replies. “He _needs_ the sausage.”

Jensen swears he can see Jared’s pecs flex from beneath the shirt of his uniform and _no he’s not looking, thank you very much._

Jared just smiles, big and bright and dimpled and fucking stupid.

“Bye, Jensen,” he says simply, before turning around and heading back out the door. 

Jensen realizes the arm holding the pizza never dropped even an inch. 

==

By the sixth time within twelve days that Jared accidentally delivers pizza to Beaver Banger, Jensen is starting to wonder if something is up.

Usually, that means he blames his friends.

“Okay, who is doing it? Fess up now and maybe I won’t ban you from the shop forever,” Jensen demands, crossing his arms across his chest. He’s gathered all of his friends—and Chad—up in the small living room of his apartment with the promise of cheap beer and a Chinese bootleg DVD of the new Godzilla movie, with the intention of having a hot pizza guy intervention.

Misha stops halfway through shoveling Singapore Mei Fun in his mouth. “Doing what?” 

“You know exactly what I mean.”

Chad burps. “Is this about the wet spot on the couch in the back of the shop? Because white doesn’t stain white, so you just have to let it air out a little.”

The entire group groans “ew” in unison.

“Is this about the flyers I put up on campus about the blowjob seminar next Friday? Because I was totally going to tell you about that eventually,” Aldis says, attempting to hide behind Danneel on the couch.

_”What?”_

“Oops, not about that then. My bad, forget I said anything.”

Jensen growls at Danneel. “He’s your boyfriend, tell him he’s not allowed to give blowjobs in my shop, even for higher education.”

“Oh, Misha was totally going to lead the class,” Danneel says, pointing at Misha, who just waves his chopsticks in reply.

“ _No one_ is giving blowjobs in my shop, dammit.”

“This is why you’re a virgin, bro,” Chad points out, and Jensen’s about five seconds away from throwing the food cartons at them all and marching out. Too bad it’s his apartment they are currently standing in, and the only other option is sleeping next to the vibrator case.

“Jensen, focus,” Danneel insists. “What were you trying to yell at us for to begin with?”

Jensen remembers his original indignation, followed by a flash of flowing chestnut hair and twitching muscles, and he maybe kind of sorta has to flex his thighs together to hide his sudden half-chub.

Danneel, the shrewd vixen, misses nothing. She snicker with obviously evil intent. “Oh, this is about Zoolander, isn’t it? Our little Jensen wants a slice of that pie.”

“Hey! Don’t call him that. It’s not his fault he’s ridiculously good-looking,” Jensen says with a pout, before realizing that he’s supposed to be indignant and scowling again.

Chad stops licking sweet and sour sauce off his t-shirt long enough to look up at him. “Hook it up, dude. The guy obviously keeps coming in because he wants to tap your grumpy ass.”

Jensen frowns. “What are you talking about? Haven’t you guys been calling him and luring him to the shop to taunt me for the past two weeks?”

The four of them turn around and look at each other in what seems like a good approximation of confusion. Chad, at least, is not that good an actor. 

“Your non-existent sex life is not important enough to spend that much money on fake-deliveries that we don’t even get to eat,” Aldis says, as Misha nods in agreement.

“Honestly, I thought _Jensen_ was paying him to show up at the shop for free advertising. I swear that little Dick guy from next door comes in to buy lube at noon every day just in case Jared shows up.”

Jensen scoffs, although he does have a point. The shop has seemed to have gotten busier around the time Jared usually shows up, like people are just waiting to see the man stride in so they can pounce like vultures. Like he’s a piece of meat! A large, sculpted, marbled piece of delicious prime-grade meat.

“You totally just said all that out loud,” Danneel points out, using her chopstick for emphasis.

Jensen drops down to the couch and covers his head with his hands as he groans.

==

Jared comes in again two days later. Jensen has a speech prepared for when he does, but he forgets it instantly when he sees what Jared’s wearing.

Or rather, what Jared is _not_ wearing.

He’s wearing a pair of (tight) jeans and a (tighter) v-neck. No pizza uniform, no pizza boxes. It’s kind of like seeing the Wizard behind the curtain, if the wizard was a gorgeous male model who smells like Irish Spring and marinara sauce.

“Hey, Jensen,” Jared says, with a little wave. His left dimple pops more than his right dimple, and Jensen is sure one day he’ll figure out the physics of that.

“No pizza?” is what Jensen responds, because he’s his normal tongue-tied self and it’s hard to be confident when you’re holding a pink bedazzled riding crop.

“Do you want to go out with me?” Jared says, and it comes out so calmly and suddenly that Jensen has to rewind the last ten seconds to make sure he heard the words right.

“Go out. With you?” Jensen repeats dumbly, because that’s about as far as he’s gotten in his mental rewatch.

Jared swallows hard, and Jensen thinks it’s the first time the guy has looked anything less than impossibly smooth. It’s kind of endearing, and Jensen finds the last of the tension in his shoulders melts away.

“You aren’t illiterate at all, are you?” Jensen asks, and the high planes of Jared’s cheekbones pink up like the crop in Jensen’s hand.

“You know I had to pay for all those fake deliveries, so this will be, like, our seventh date or something.”

Jared’s smile is small and adorable and just for him and Jensen has no idea what he’s supposed to do with that.

“Ugh, you bitch. Say ‘yes’ already and put us all out of our misery.”

_Chad._

“Yes,” Jensen says.

“Yes?” Jared repeats, smile getting wider.

“But not because Chad just told me to,” Jensen adds quickly, and Jared laughs. 

“I certainly hope not. Does he even work here?”

“Absolutely not. He’s like a stray cat; we fed him once and now he won’t stop pissing on our doorstep.”

“I heard that!” 

Jensen throws the riding crop at the counter, where it hits Chad directly in the forehead.

Between that and his hot date with his very own spicy sausage, this is not the worst day Jensen’s ever had.

==

Jared doesn’t make fun of Jensen when he tells him that he’s a thirty-year-old virgin. In fact, between the way Jared’s eyes glaze over and the fact that Jared’s usual tight pants get even tighter, Jensen can even say he is excited by it.

Jensen wishes he could say that he just jumps into it, that now that he has a super-hot boyfriend (!) who is inexplicably into him, he becomes a devilish sexbot that could bump Misha right off those blowjob flyers.

But, you know, this is reality. And reality says that the first time they get half-naked, Jensen goes right for Jared’s nipples like he’s tuning a car radio. Which, apparently, is not the way to lead into first-time sex, but rather the way to lead to your boyfriend wearing an icepack on his chest for the next hour.

Eventually, there comes a night when they manage to get Jensen’s pants off without getting his dick caught in his zipper (fourth date: Indian food, rush to the bathroom, not that sexy) and that’s not bad. In fact, it’s pretty damn good when Jared is licking his way down Jensen’s spine and over the crest of his ass to the curve and then down lower into…

“What are you doing?” Jensen shrieks, just as Jared’s tongue decides to introduce itself to Jensen’s asshole, and Jensen spins so fast that he manages to knock his knee right into Jared’s chin so hard that he can hear the enamel knocking together.

Jared doesn’t lose any teeth, at least, and the ER doctor tells him later that night that at least his livelihood isn’t affected.

Jensen stocks up on ice packs.

He feels bad after that, so the next time Jared tells him that Jensen’s asshole will really like being friends with Jared’s tongue, Jensen grudgingly agrees.

Four minutes later, he’s riding Jared’s face like a mechanical bull, and Jensen tells himself this sex life thing might not be so bad after all.

==

On their tenth date (sixteenth if you count all the pizza they never ate), they snuggle on Jensen’s worn but Chad-jizz-less couch and watch Chopped re-runs on the DVR. 

Jensen will never know if this night was just the mythical “right time”, or if Scott Conant’s pheromones wafted from the judges table, through the television, and straight into Jared’s dick.

It hurts at first. Jared makes it halfway in before Jensen starts tearing up and making weird wailing noises into his pillow. 

“Jensen?” Jared whispers against Jensen’s ear. The worry in his voice seems to relax Jensen, and his entire body goes limp.

“Stick it in already,” Jensen insists, and he can feel the tiny huff of a laugh as Jared does what he’s told and rams his sausage all the way home.


End file.
